The Lady of the Lake
by ox-dancindarlin-xo
Summary: "And then they both were slowly swept away, like two little grains of sand just floating on the water – together; finally forever."  Merlin is dying, and he has to see Freya one last time. *Two-shot by request* WARNING: Character death.
1. Together, Finally Forever

**Disclaimer: Nothing is mine but the creativity and storyline. All rights go to their respectful owners.**

**

* * *

**

Merlin knew he was dying. He had known from the moment the sword had pierced his skin that he was a dead man.

Arthur had warned him. Arthur had told him – he had told him not to go; not to go out to war with them. That's what he had said. He'd told him to stay behind with Gaius to help the injured. But Merlin wanted to be on the battlefield, brave, standing beside Arthur on the firing line, where his duty lied. His duty lied with the Prince – and with Camelot.

So when he ran out of the castle, displaying a far-too-heavy sword in his right hand, Arthur had screamed at him. Just screamed his name. Not out of anger, or out of annoyance – but out of concern and fright. Arthur was frightened – screaming Merlin's name; just his name, as his throat was already too raw to scream anything else.

Merlin had faltered when he heard Arthur's voice, hesitating for just a second to scan the hundreds of swarming bodies for the crowned Prince of Camelot. But that slight falter was enough for Merlin to be struck from behind; watching helplessly as the sword slid easily through his flesh.

"_MERLIN_!"

He remembered Arthur screaming. But it seemed so distant now. So far away in his detachment, only echoing in his ears rather than hearing him clearly. He couldn't even see clearly, all his vision was blurred at the edges, fading in and out of blackness as his heavy eyelids blinked slowly. He swayed, and the ground spun, and he fell to the ground just as his assailant slid the sword from his limp body, leaving him to hit the ground with a sickening thud.

His body was too heavy to move. It weighed him down like a ton of bricks, rooting him to the ground far worse than gravity ever could. He could barely lift his head to keep it out of the blood quickly flooding onto the floor around him.

He could still hear Arthur in the background, in the fringes of his mind. Still screaming – never stopping. Always screaming his name, over and over again. But as the screaming faded out into deafening silence, and his vision blurred to such an extent he could only make out colours as they streamed past him, he knew in an instant that he was dying – and he didn't have long left.

The pain was numbing. He couldn't feel any pain other than a slight stinging sensation at the backs of his eyes, and he let the tears run freely. Because he knew that he had to do one last thing before he passed on to the other world. He knew that he would do whatever it took to get there – even if it meant dragging his body by his fingernails just to get there.

Because he had to see _her_ one last time.

Merlin knew the battle around him was so fierce that no one would notice him if he got up and stumbled away, just as much as he knew that no one was coming to help him. Not even Arthur, who he knew was still screaming his name even though all he could hear now was the whistling of the wind. Even as all the sweaty, muddy and bloodied bodies of soldiers ran past him in streaks of colour, he couldn't hear their shouting; nor the clinking of swords; nor the screaming of the injured as they lay dying on the ground – just like he was.

But this wasn't the end for Camelot. Arthur would live, he knew that now. He didn't need him to protect him any longer. Because in this fight – in _this_ fight – Uther would die and Arthur would become king. Merlin had fulfilled his destiny now. And yet he could not pass on to the other side in peace until he spoke to _her_; that one woman he so _longed_ to see.

And so he began his ten-minute journey, dragging his heavy body behind him as he pushed himself forward against the grass with his arms, his face distorted in effort and pain as sharp stabbing pains racked through him with every jolted movement. Uttering brief healing spells to prolong his life as he went, he made his way through the thinnest of the battleground and into the wooded area around the castle. Once he was out of sight, he collapsed face-first into the mud again, now shaded by trees. He lifted a shaking, blood-stained hand to his face and wiped his brow of the sheen lingering there, before growling one last healing spell under his breath and throwing his body upwards.

He cried out in agony as the pain became unbearable in his system. Eyes squeezed shut and teeth ground together, he pushed himself backwards until he was stood on two legs and collapsed onto a nearby tree trunk. It supported him nicely, but it used all his energy to not just slide back down the trunk and onto the floor again.

But he had to go – just one last time – he had to keep going.

And so he did, not allowing himself for breaks or breathers, forcing one foot infront of the other, stumbling in agony from one tree to the next, until he had made it a good fifty metres away from the battleground. He was now enclosed in trees, and he had been stumbling for about fifteen minutes now. Slowly but surely.

He threw himself onto another tree trunk and, for the first time in twenty minutes, he looked down to see the damage that had been caused.

He had a huge chunk of flesh gouged out of his left side, which was still oozing slightly with fresh blood as his spells forced his heart to keep pounding. But most of the blood had congealed there, but he knew there was no way it would begin to clot any time soon. His clothes were covered in the sticky, warm crimson liquid and after dragging himself across the floor, it had picked up every little leaf or twig. His hands were unusually pale as he looked to them clutching the tree trunk. They were still trembling uncontrollably, even though most of the pain was ebbing away and all that was left was a hollow, aching feeling.

But he was so _exhausted_.

He pressed further, until he saw a gap in the trees ahead. It wasn't far now. Not far at all and then he would see her.

_But... so... tired..._

Practically dragging his feet across the floor, he made it to the gap in the trees and threw himself onto the shore behind it. His body slid for a moment on top of all the loose rocks and stones surrounding him, and then he lay still, his face buried in the rocks as he inhaled deeply.

He couldn't even muster the strength to utter a healing spell anymore, but he knew that it was okay... he would see her now... just one last time...

And when he finally opened his eyes – there she was; standing right in the centre of his eyesight, only about a metre away, her clothes still stained and torn, her hair still matted and dirty, and her face still looking as warm as ever when her warm smile spread across her face.

"Hello, Merlin." She whispered, but it sounded so clear it was as if she was standing right beside him.

_Freya_.

She slowly stepped towards him, coming away from the lake's surface that had pooled around her ankles to kneel beside him and support his head against her knees. He looked up into her round, perfect face. Her eyes were still glistening with life, their dark hazel colour so affectionate they could have melted his ice blue.

And they probably did – because when he closed his eyes to inhale her mossy, natural scent, a single tear slipped from the corner of them and down his temples into his hair.

She stroked his face with the palm of her hand and bowed her head to gently kiss him on the forehead. She paid no attention to his wounds, nor how he was trembling uncontrollably. She just smiled down softly at him, taking in all his contented face.

After what seemed like an eternity, she whispered again, and it still sounded as clear as chimes in Merlin's head, "I missed you."

Merlin sighed, as much as it pained him to do so, but even the trace of a wince never showed up on his face. Because now that he was with Freya, no pain existed, no traces of agony were left on his bruised and bloodied skin – because he was with her now. With her forever.

_I missed you too._

A great grin broke out across her face, and she brought her face down to Merlin's until their lips met. It was just a peck, with so many different meanings. It lingered for too long – but not long enough. Once they broke away, Merlin's eyes opened again and examined her face. She was _real_; she was sat there _with_ him, nursing him... _loving _him again.

She hadn't changed a bit since the last time he'd seen her. Not even the rosiness in her skin had faded, and she looked just as alive as ever as she stroked his matted hair away from his sweaty forehead. The only thing that told Merlin she wasn't real was the coolness of her fingers as they brushed his skin; although refreshing, it wasn't human. It didn't correspond with the warm colour of her skin and contradicted her existence somehow. She was dead.

_I want to go with you._

The smile faded from Freya's face. But the smile still danced in her eyes, and that was good enough for Merlin.

And so they sat there, holding on to each other, just looking into each other's eyes, listening to the world pass around them, until the sun began to set and a chill filled the summery air. She stroked his face once more, and it reassured him of everything. He just nodded once, reaching out a heavy, trembling hand to touch her face just once, before he gasped and the last breath of air left his lungs.

He went limp against Freya's hands, but the gentle smile never left her face. She just held him closer and watched him sleep against her as the wind whipped up the lake; slowly at first, but larger and larger until it crept up against her and she sighed in content at the recollection of her _home_. The lake.

And then they both were slowly swept away, like two little grains of sand just floating on the water – together; finally forever.

* * *

_**A/N: I've had this idea in my head for a while now, and I just felt like writing something sad. What do you think?**_

_**I'm sorry I had to make Merlin die. :( But it wouldn't have been much of a story if he had lived, would it?**_

_**I hope you liked, anyway! Reviews are love!**_

_**Kelly xxx**_


	2. Together, Always Forever

_You can feel the pounding  
wrapped around your chest.  
Nothings too excessive  
when you've got nothing left.  
We're all here 'cause we've lost control,  
We're all here 'cause we've lost control,  
We're all here 'cause we've lost control,  
We're all here 'cause we've lost control._

_If we all should die tonight,  
we will have no regrets.  
If we all should die tonight,  
we will have no regrets._

**Disclaimer: Nothing is mine but the creativity and storyline. All rights go to their respectful owners. Song lyrics from '**_**Die Tonight, Live Forever**_**' by **_**Innerpartysystem**_**.**

_**A/N: So, yeah. I really wasn't going to go anywhere with this, to be honest. It was just going to be a one-shot, but after 'asdf' gave me the idea, I decided to make it a two-shot instead. So, thanks for that! :D I hope you enjoy this additional chapter!**_

_**

* * *

**_

_Arthur knew that Merlin was dying. He had known from the moment he saw the knight strike him that he was a dead man._

_He had warned him. He had told him – he had told him not to go; not to go out to war with them. That's what he had said. He'd told him to stay behind with Gaius to help the injured. But Merlin wanted to be on the battlefield, brave, standing beside his Prince on the firing line, where his duty lied. His duty was always with the Prince – and with Camelot. Arthur admired him for that._

_So Arthur watched as he ran out of the castle, displaying a far-too-heavy sword in his right hand, making him stumble from the weight. And then he noticed the knight coming up from behind; recognising his perfect opportunity. So he began to scream Merlin's name, over and over, the fright too obvious as it screeched from his throat – raw from being used for nothing but screaming._

_Merlin had faltered when he heard his Prince's voice, hesitating for just a second to scan the hundreds of swarming bodies for the crowned Prince of Camelot. But that slight falter was enough for Merlin to be struck from behind; and Arthur watching helplessly as the sword slid easily through his flesh._

"_MERLIN_!"

Arthur jolted upright in his bed. The screams of war still bounced off the walls around him, echoing in his ears cruelly, and it took him a moment to realise that the screams were coming from his own mouth.

But he couldn't stop screaming. He couldn't get the awful images out his mind. Merlin – running towards him, brave and courageous, sword bared in his right hand proudly as he charged out to defend his kingdom. Then the image darkened as a large cloud of black blanketed the scene, and suddenly a sword had run through Merlin, and the raven-haired boy had fallen to the ground, unmoving.

"_MERLIN_!"

Arthur scolded his brutal memories again – only to realise that _he_ was screaming Merlin's name, just as he had before, as the images still swept across his mind; still haunted him.

When would they go away? When would they stop? When would they _leave him alone_? When? He had been asking the same questions for months – exactly seven months. Seven months had passed since that day of war. That _last_ day of war. Merlin had died on the last day of war; for nothing. For absolutely nothing. The other kingdom fled. They _fled_, only a few hours after Merlin had died. He had died for _nothing_.

They never found his body. Arthur couldn't help but imagine if the other kingdom had took it – probably stuck it up on a pole as you entered the city to warn people of what damage could be done if they crossed them.

Arthur shuddered violently, cursing his mental images again. They only fuelled his nightmares and made them twice as horrific as his eyes did. His _damn_ eyes. He hated them. He did – if his eyes had cast away from Merlin, had cast away from when he had been struck, he wouldn't be having these nightmares now. His nights would be calm and contented, and his wife wouldn't have to leave the room whenever he began tossing and turning violently, only to return a few minutes later to the sounds of him screaming.

And there she was – his beautiful wife – dashing into the bedroom, just like she had every night for seven months, to comfort him. She sat on the bed beside him as he continued screaming, always screaming... She held him close and whispered reassuring words into his ear. She stayed with him, until the screaming passed, and even then she still held him tightly, until hours after, when they would finally break apart.

Once they pulled away, she still held against his neck, her fingers in the bottom of his sandy-blonde hair. He looked upon her beautiful face with red-rimmed eyes as the tears were still silently falling. Her face was calm, and it radiated from her features and into his soul as it cooled his flame-hot skin, covered in a sheen of his sweat – as were the bed-sheets.

But she just continued to look him directly in his eyes, her dark hazel melting his blue, and he sunk into her arms, sobbing uncontrollably into her shoulder.

She hated to see him cry. Unfortunately, he had been doing it for the past seven months.

Shushing him gently, stroking his hair softly, and fighting in vein to hold back her own tears, her heart broke as he whispered into her chest. He just whispered her name, over and over again, unable to finish his sentences through sobbing, but she knew exactly what he was trying to ask of her. And she knew that it was impossible.

_Gwen, please take the nightmares away. Please make them stop._

Once he felt one of his wife's own tears hit the top of his head, he slowly pulled away from her, but still held her close, closing his eyes and touching his sweaty, feverish forehead against hers, inhaling deeply just to reassure himself that she was there. His biggest fear was that he would open his eyes and she would be gone, just like Merlin was.

Gwen knew that mixed within all this agony over Merlin, all the haunted memories of not being able to stop his fate; not being able to get there in time, somewhere there was guilt. And not the huge, looming guilt Arthur seemed to hold about Merlin, but guilt over his father. Uther had died in that war, also, and Arthur had been made King that very same day. Gwen became Queen the day after that. But Arthur felt guilty that he was having nightmares about Merlin's death – his loyal servant, and his _best friend_ – and not his father's. He knew that Uther never would have understood what sort of emotional turmoil Arthur was undergoing, but Gwen did, and that was just one of the reasons that made him love her.

After his father's death, Arthur had been in a long debate whether or not to reconcile magic within Camelot. It hadn't been until a few weeks after the start of his rein when Gwen finally plucked up the courage to confide in her husband about something she promised not to tell anyone.

"Arthur?" She had spoken softly, only just getting out of her habit of calling him 'sire', as she hesitantly entered their bedroom, closing the door quietly behind her.

He looked over his shoulder from the window he was staring out of. His face broke into a small smile that never touched his eyes after he saw her. Moving away from the window, he came to sit by the fireplace, where Gwen joined him, the fire casting a beautiful orange glow over her flawless skin.

"I... have to tell you something... before you come to a decision about Camelot." She began, timidly, her eyes dropping to her hands placed on her lap, her fingers twiddling nervously. Arthur chuckled – and for the first time in weeks it sounded genuine – as he took her hands in his and forced her to look up at him as he inched closer. He didn't make any attempt to kiss her, only hovered over her; so close their noses were almost touching.

"Your opinions mean the world to me, my Lady. You are, after all, the Queen of Camelot. It is as much my kingdom as it is yours." He said, softly, as he lifted on of her hands to his mouth and kissed her knuckles, never taking his eyes from hers. Her face looked a little shocked, if not still slightly apprehensive, but smiled at the gesture anyway before continuing, just as unsure as before.

"Well... Arthur... Please don't think any less of him, but..."

And then that's when she told him. That was the day Arthur Pendragon found out about Merlin being a sorcerer.

And that was also the day magic was returned to Camelot – in honour of his best friend. He decided, then; in that moment, that magic couldn't be bad. Of course it couldn't. Just because his father had cast a blinding shadow over sorcery didn't mean it was bad. Merlin was proof of that. How could someone so honest and so pure... be _bad_?

And Merlin wasn't bad. Arthur knew that. He was his loyal servant – and his devoted best friend.

Arthur whimpered once at another memory that flooded his brain, only this memory cast away everything making his skin crawl that night. This memory was good, was warm... was beautiful. His wife. Gwen.

He opened his eyes, only to cast them down to the large bump cushioned warmly between himself and Gwen.

This time, when a tear slid down his cheek, it wasn't because of haunting memories or a feeling of guilt or grief... but it was of pride. Pride – _and _joy. His child. His beautiful baby girl or his strapping baby boy. Either way, he would love and care for it to no end.

He could picture it in his head, taking away all the bad thoughts immediately, and his murky mind was replaced by a glowing light, guiding him into happiness. His child – with sandy-blonde hair and dark, hazel eyes or with delicious chocolate curls and piercing blue eyes. A piece of him and a piece of Gwen to snuggle up to every night; to love – to _love forever_.

He looked back up into his wife's face, her shadowed eyes from lack of sleep and red-rimmed from crying at Arthur's pain. But the infectious smile she was wearing showed up in her eyes and Arthur couldn't help but smile warmly back, placing both their entwined hands over his bulging stomach.

"Arthur Pendragon the second." Gwen whispered, her face breaking out into a huge grin. Arthur returned to beam but shook his head gently, removing one of his hands from hers to caress her cheek.

"No..." Gwen's face dropped a little, but the smile still remained humbly on her face, "Little girl Guinevere. With my hair and your eyes." He decided, not taking his other hand out from under hers and cupping her face completely. His voice dropped dramatically as his eyes glassed over, full of affection, "_I want all my babies to have your eyes_."

And at that, Gwen tilted her head up and their lips touched into a tender, lingering kiss. It told both of them exactly what they both needed to know.

From between them both, Gwen felt an approving little nudge beneath her fingers, and smiled against Arthur's lips until they both pulled away. The two rulers of Camelot – together; always forever.

~_**Fin**_~

* * *

_**A/N: Yeah, there are many similarities between two stories. And I think I will just leave it there... So, yeah, a two-shot is it. :) **_

_**Also, I only thought it right if both stories had the same amount of words (minus the Author's Note, the Disclaimer, the ~fin~ and the song at the top) which is 1,793. I don't know why, it just seemed more... meaningful. As it felt meaningful to start and finish the chapters the same. What do you think?**_

_**Reviews are love, thanks for reading!**_

_**Kelly xxx**_


End file.
